


one second and the tables turn

by plinys



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because if anybody was going to tell Harry that he was a right bastard for not dying properly, it was going to be Eggsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one second and the tables turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calmena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmena/gifts).



> For a fic swap, my prompt was "novelty" !

He’s in fucking _Kentucky_ because apparently Harry’s not dead.

Harry just took a while to wake up and Eggsy might have been bothering Merlin in central when the call came through, and demanded that he be put on the first flight out to the states.

Because if anybody was going to tell Harry that he was a right bastard for not dying properly, it was going to be Eggsy.

Except apparently there was such things as planes being _too_ fast, because the nurse sitting behind the front desk had politely informed Eggsy no less than four times that “visiting hours don’t start till eleven,” before gesturing towards the waiting area with an expectant look on her face.  

Honestly, they’re just lucky this is a fucking hospital and Eggsy’s not brash enough to pull out a gun in the middle of a hospital and demand he gets his way. That and the fact that Merlin’s voice appears over the comms any time Eggsy even thinks about breaking into Harrys room.  

It’s like he’s a bloody mind reader, that one.

His eyes glance anxiously up to the clock again, as if willing the time to go by faster, it’s a fruitless endeavor and he knows it, but it doesn’t stop Eggsy from checking every few seconds as though suddenly he’ll blink and the hour will have gone by.

He pushes up from the chair after the third time checking, determined to go hunt for something else to do in this hospital, for a fending machine that he can feed a few coins into for a snack or a drink. Which seeing as he hadn’t eaten since London, other than a pack of stale peanuts on the flight over, was probably a good idea.

Though before he makes it to the vending machine he runs into a tiny shop tucked into a corner of the hospital, there’s an assortment of gifts on the inside, flowers and teddy bears and giant cards expressing well wishes.

Eggsy ignores the grumbling of his stomach for a second as he steps into the shop, taking in the tacky endearments and over stuffed toys. He could almost imagine Harry’s face if he brought one of those in with him, would he have that fond look of exasperation that Eggsy had come to find familiar back during the days of his training or would he look more like he had the last time they’d spoken, the disappointment that-

“Are you looking for something in particular?”

He’s almost thankful for the voice of the little shopkeeper, her heavy American accent pulling him out of his thoughts as he turns to face her, putting in place one of his well-practiced smiles, the types that he pulled out for honeypot missions or visits with his mum.

“Not exactly, more like looking to waste time,” he admits as he takes in the display behind her head, obnoxiously colored balloons pinned to a wall with corresponding numbers, “visiting hours doesn’t start for another,” his eyes flick to his watch briefly, “forty minutes?”

She gives him a knowing smile at that, as if she understands his situation all too well, “you think they’d like a little something? Some flowers maybe?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits reluctantly. The truth is, he doesn’t know how Harry feels about flowers or balloons, though he knows what caliber of gun fits best in Harry’s hand and how he takes his tea. Neither of those are particularly useful in this situation.

“Well let me know if you find anything you’d like to buy.”

Eggsy makes a vague noise of agreement before sweeping his gaze back around the shop. He’s half tempted to mumble a question into the glasses comms, because if anybody knows what sort of tacky gift Harry would like, it would probably be Merlin. But he holds his tongue, because even though it’s silly, this stupid gift has to be something from Eggsy, some half-assed apology for how they’d left things when he’d thought Harry was dead.

The gift he eventually ends up buying seems to fit that bill perfectly.

This time when he swings by the nurse doesn’t turn him away, but rather leads him down a few winding hallways until they stop in front of another door.

“He only just woke up yesterday,” the nurse reminds Eggsy, “so he might not be in the best of spirits.”

Eggsy nods his own head in return, gripping the stupid gift in his hand tighter, as though it could give him the strength he needs to push the door open.

Harry’s there in bed, looking not too much different than he had back at headquarters, when he’d woken up from the other coma. But this time the sight makes his chest feel tighter, because he’d lost Harry, nearly had and they hadn’t-

“Eggsy?”

The world stops in a brief moment when their eyes meet, and there are so many things Eggsy wants to say, anger and relief mix together so that his throat feels tight, and when his eyes blink shut to break the eye contact, he’s not surprised to feel the wetness at the edges of them.

Though when he opens his eyes again, he does his best to plaster on that smile, even if he knows that Harry will see through it.

“Sorry I took so long, those fucking nurses wouldn’t let me in, there’s some visiting hours rubbish and…”

He trails off, because Harry’s still looking at him with that sad worried look on his face, and it ain’t fucking fair cause if anybody should be worried it’s Eggsy.

 “I bought you something,” he says suddenly, stepping forward to shove the gift into Harry’s hands, “I know it ain’t much, but I figure it’s a start, yeah?”

“Thank you,” Harry says, though his brows seem to knit together and there’s more that they need to talk about, he says nothing more and instead turns to look at the gift in his hands with careful precision.

The plastic glitter flakes and lopsided figurine of a horse on the inside with tacky gold paint spelling out the words _‘Wishing you well from Kentucky_. _’_ It’s a real shit gift, the kind of cheap gag that he almost feels bad about.

So he says, “I’m sorry,” as he watches Harry turn the gift over in his hands, “for everything.”

“Oh, my boy, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

\---

Months later, when it’s all said and done, there’s a snow globe on Harry’s desk, standing out from the neatly ordered papers and minimalist design, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, gift shops inside hospitals are actual things, I went to one the other day and was amazing to find that I could buy a variety of "Greeting From California" themed gifts at a hospital. Capitalism at it's finest.


End file.
